


War Story

by JanxAngel



Category: Exalted
Genre: Battle, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 19:49:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9783194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanxAngel/pseuds/JanxAngel
Summary: War stories?  You want to hear war stories?  Big, grand tales of glory and victory snatched from the jaws of defeat?  Alright, I’ll tell you a story.





	

War stories? You want to hear war stories? Big, grand tales of glory and victory snatched from the jaws of defeat? Feh. They always like it when soldiers sit around and tell war stories. Gets the young ones fired up and ready to fight, too bad most of them just end up dead instead of telling their own stories. That’s not what you want to hear though, is it? Not why you bought me a drink and asked for a seat. Alright, I’ll tell you a story.

We were part of the 47th Imperial Legion, House Cathak, stationed in Harborhead, when a Deathknight that went by the name Maiden of Dark Dreams decided to lead an army and take Kirighast for herself and establish herself as a new Deathlord. Ambition it seems doesn’t always stop with death. She had managed to recruit a large force from somewhere and then led them through the Bayou of Endless Regret, heading south. When we got the word, I knew it wasn’t going to be a good fight. I’d been up against the dead before and it didn’t go well.

Our platoon was lined up on the field, scouts having let us know which part of the hills they were going to be coming down from. The land was open and flat just to the East of the city with the hills surrounding us on three sides, the city and then the sea to the West. Unless they would try to draw us forward, it was going to be level ground for all. It wasn’t long before we spotted them, a black tide crawling over the rise, a fitting match to the overcast skies above. As we watch, and the horde grows larger and larger, some kid pukes off to one side. You can feel the tension building up, even among the older hands. It’s one of those things that you never get really used to, you just get better at coping with it.

We’re putting on our helmets and doing the final check on our weapons, hefting spears, drawing swords, settling shields, when we catch the first scent of them. Unless you’ve smelled it before, its not what you think it will be, a big wall of putrid rot. It’s much more earthy, sometimes even dusty. Just depends on what kind of creatures are actually on the field. Not to say there can’t be any rotters, just that it’s not the first thing you smell.

I’m in the third rank when we begin the advance to meet them in the middle of the grass. From up in the hills, I figure we make quite a sight, even with the watery sunlight filtering down. Row after row after row of armored warriors, a wall of shields marching forward, spears like the teeth of a fine comb, all arrayed in their red uniforms, going to burn up the corrupt monsters threatening the land.  
The advance takes forever, but it’s over all too quickly. I manage to get a glance of what we’re up against as the front line makes contact. A giant horde of shamblers. They pile up against the front rank’s shields as they start hacking away with their thick short swords. The dull sounds of blade chopping dead flesh and bone echo back to us along with the moans from their empty mouths. The press keeps moving forward, inching our way to the middle, and the footing gets worse as we go, stepping over the dead and the dying. I think I heard someone living trying to cry out from under our feet. Poor bastard didn’t last long if I was right. 

This part of fighting is the longest. This is the part where we sit and hit the enemy and they try to break through and everything is a repetitive slash, draw, thrust, recover, block; one long drill for hours. You’d think being in the middle of a huge mass of battle would be more interesting or dynamic, but it really isn’t. Especially if, like me, you’re not in the front rank. Back in the middle of the third, I could see a bit but no real action yet. It’s a big grind. The mindless horde presses against us, and for every one we take down it seems like three more takes their place. Some of ours fall as well, the mass managing to get their reaching, grasping hands on some poor soul, dragging them away. After a short time, fatigue starts claiming some as well. A slow recovery, a shield arm slipping down, footing getting unsteady; all contribute to the attrition in our own ranks. The second line steps up to fill in the gaps, bringing ours up closer. The smell is stronger now. You’d think it would be overwhelming, but whatever they do to make them start walking again somehow seems to take away the worst of it. Guess even the dead don’t like the smell of rot.

It seems like a really long time, stabbing or pushing back against any of the reedy corpses that try to squeeze between the shields of the front rank, when it comes our turn to step to the front. You’d think that with all that time to wait it’d be kind of a relief to finally engage them, but it really isn’t. Getting an upfront, face to face view of these things is never good. Have to admit to not feeling bad about hacking them apart though. Dead should stay dead. 

It has to be another half an hour, maybe an hour, maybe more, before the horde in front of us is just a pile of torn up remains. Time gets weird when you’re surrounded by the enemy and fighting for your life. While we’re standing there, looking around, taking care of stragglers, and regrouping, the clouds that had been hanging over us all day started to darken and billow in the sky. At a time when we should be looking forward to calling it a day, anyone who’s been around a while is getting worried instead. Lightning tears through the inky banner above and thunder sounds its deep bellow, rolling across the flatland, shaking our bones. Leaden sheets of rain slice down from above, as cold as the new wave of the deathknight’s soldiers, flowing down from the far hills.  
This is bad, and we all know it as we scramble back into our ranks, the horns and drums coming in late with their orders. These are not mere shamblers this time. No, these are the elites, the real soldiers, not the mindless fodder they threw at us first to wear us down and thin our numbers. Our casualties weren’t as bad as they could have been, not nearly, but with fresh troops upon us, every body out of action is another one closer to defeat.

This is when the fear can start to creep in, and if you let it, you’re as good as done. Once we were back in our ranks, our drummers took up a beat, trying to counteract the tiredness, the cold, the rain and the fear. A pounding rhythm to lift us up and fill our hearts with courage. We needed it too, because we were looking pretty well fucked.

Despite the situation, I found myself prouder than ever of my comrades. Even the greenies had to know what kind of hell we were about to go into, yet every soldier on that field that could still fight was standing tall and strong, unwavering. So here it was; their best against our best. There is this time, when you know the enemy is coming, and you know its not going to be pretty, your chest gets tight, your heart pounds, your head is floating, your body is heavy, and you have to decide. You have to decide if you’re gonna live or die. 

I looked around and saw we all decided to live, because anyone with a shield was pounding on it, and everyone else started chanting or clashing with their neighbor, making the biggest noise. I’m pretty sure even the city could hear us right then. Feral faces and the desire to win; no, these people were not going to lose today, and if they did fall, they were going to make it cost our enemy dearly. It’s a good thing we were actually disciplined soldiers and not a peasant levy, or else we probably would have charged right then. 

We stood there, covered in blood and dirt, now streaking in the hard rain, as we waited for them to come down onto the flat. Every fiber of my being was stretched taut, singing like a bowstring, waiting for the moment to throw myself into the battle ahead. Then, finally, the horn sounds and we advance again. The pace seemed to pick up as we went, until we were at a dead run. The sound when the wall met them was enough to dwarf the thunder for a moment. 

I threw all my weight behind my shield as I crashed into their line, trying to throw as many as I could off their feet or at least off balance, not ready to defend against the spears and long blades reaching through. My feet sank into the mud, the metal groaned, and my muscles protested under the strain, but I kept pushing, every inch a triumph, every one of their fallen a victory. The momentum of our charge was over all too soon though and we ground to a halt, locking shields together and holding the defense for the ranks reaching over our heads. 

The banging, the crashing, as the undead monsters, some that were soldiers like us in another life, pounded on the steel barrier, seeking to break the line and overrun us. I like to think that they were expecting fear rather than the snarling fury we threw into their teeth. No matter how much courage and defiance you have though, eventually a tired body begins to fail. Oh we made them feel it, I saw so many cut down, but our own side was hurting as well. The line was falling apart. 

I glanced up from my position, looking quickly down the row and caught the moment when mere human strength couldn’t hold out against the beasts. The shieldbearers fell back, the line was broken and they were rushing in upon us. The howling storm of steel, and monsters, and blood, and pain, and death was surrounding me, engulfing me. My heart was pounding harder than ever, pure rage shot through my veins, and despite all logic, everything in my sight seemed to move so very slowly. 

I turned and one fell at my feet, a step and two more lay in the mud. There was no thought to it, my training simply took over. A twist, a strike, duck, thrust… A hand grabs me, I wrench away and run the owner through. I catch some of my fellows out of the corner of my eye, rallying around me. A head comes off. Corpses with guts ruptured and spilled out surround me. Another swing, another creature sent back to the hells. Claws slash against my shield, the limb going past it. I throw my shoulder in and crush its face. It screams and falls back, its cry cut short by a spear finding it. Another one leaps at me. I try to bat it out of the air with the shield, but it grabs on, trying to haul me off my feet. I let it, pinning it between metal and mud. Its squirming and thrashing, not sure if its suffocating, or trying to dig out from under me. A second one runs up as I’m on my side, aiming for my gut. I manage to kick in its knee with a crack, sending it sprawling. I roll up, putting my blade through the choking one as I do, then the broken knee gets put down too. 

I blink and look around, there aren’t that many left, most of them engaged with the other company further to the west. My fellows are gone, to join the mass in the mud, their blood mixing in the rain. I am alone. Suddenly, I am more tired than I ever thought I could be, but somehow I’m still on my feet. Of course that’s when one of the big brute creatures looms up to me from out of the grey curtain of the rain. Despite its size, I know that it isn’t stupid. The big emblems and plates hanging from its body, as well as the decent looking goremaul, tell me that it probably has some rank. Maybe even a general. Judging by the state of the field, we’ve done a lot more damage than I expected. Someone is pissed.

I never have recalled a conscious thought occurring that led me to dodge the first body crushing blow that slammed into the ground next to me. I threw my shield down. It was so heavy, and against this towering monster, of no use. The next swing came straight across at shoulder level, and I ducked, scooping up a small axe my fingers found in the ground under my feet. We circled, its burning eyes trying to size me up, figure out just how tired I am, which move is more likely to leave an opening. I was just trying to figure out how long I could avoid getting smashed.  
It feinted low and swung up in a rising strike. I managed to twist away just barely, I saw way too much detail on that goremaul for it being in motion. I darted in, my smaller size and weapons allowing me in close while its arm was in the air. A couple of quick slashes, one of which bit flesh, but not nearly enough to kill. It roared in anger at the sting, and its other arm caught me a glancing hit in my shoulder, my armor taking most of it. A good reminder that it had two arms after all. I knew I had to end this fast or the last adrenaline fueled energy I had was going to run out and I’d be a lying in a mangled pulp.

I kept dodging and striking when I could, but not nearly enough damage was being done against its mass. I could feel my blows getting sloppy and loose as my strength drained away. It didn’t hit me to bring me down. My rubbery legs tripped in the debris of the field and sent me sprawling. I managed to scramble to my knees, but there was nothing left in me to get up. It loomed over me. It knew I was done and took its time setting the strike, taunting me. 

I looked up past the beast, to the dull iron sky above, and I saw through it. I don’t know how, but I could see the sun behind the clouds, shining. I know the old faith of the Unconquered Sun is considered anathema, but right then, all I could see was light. I could feel the warmth of it, spreading through me, chasing away the tiredness, filling me with hope that I was not going to die that day. As the monster slowly raised its mighty weapon to strike me down, I made my move. I dove and rolled between its massive trunk legs, digging my blades in deeply on both sides as I did. I came to my feet behind it as it howled in the most unearthly way, turned and buried that axe in the base of its spine as hard as I could. It worked, and it’s legs collapsed under it. Somehow it managed to flounder on to its back, and I carefully made my way around to its head, avoiding the flailing arms. With the last bit of everything I had, I drove my shortsword straight down, falling again to my knees as I put all my weight behind it. 

The crack of its skull reverberated over the field, and to the last remnants of the dark army, it was as if a trumpet had sounded. They seemed to fall apart in a moment, all discipline and training lost. A human army would likely have turn and run, but I’ve heard that they have fates worse than just falling on the field for those that displease their Deathlord masters. They threw themselves at the remainder of the line, but without coordination, they were dispatched easily.

And that was how we won the day. Savoring our hard earned victory on a field filled with the dead and dying. Remembering the warmth of our comrades in the cold rain. Picking ourselves up from the filth while the birds began to pick at the corpses. We marched off with but a fifth of our number than we arrived with, but the Dragonblooded congratulated each other on such a fine battle, never once having stepped out from their tent. I got a medal even, later on, for extraordinary valor. Yeah, because it is so brave to save your own skin.

So, you wanted a war story. There you are, a completely true one at that. I think I’m going to have another drink. Funny though, no matter what I do, I don’t know that I’ll ever get rid of the chill of the rain, even if I live to be an old woman.


End file.
